


I Want Your Midnights

by minnesotamemelord



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 2012/2013-ish, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bottom Tony Stark, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, M/M, Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark Friendship, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, New Years, New Year’s Party, Party, Partying, Post-Avengers (2012), Post-Iron Man 3, Pre-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Steve Rogers & Tony Stark Friendship, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Avengers Are Good Bros, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony Stark Gets a Hug, Tony Stark Has A Crush, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony-centric, Top Steve Rogers, fluff that turned into angst whoops i tried my best, i finally wrote fluff are you happy, i literally can't not write angst, im so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 02:57:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19220173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minnesotamemelord/pseuds/minnesotamemelord
Summary: Tony Stark is, of course, famous for his fantastically wild parties, which have, of course, only gotten crazier since the Avengers started getting invited. The craziest of all is his New Year’s Eve Stark-Stravaganza.





	I Want Your Midnights

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t write a lot of fluff, I think I’m better with angst, but I needed a break from all that, so I hope you guys enjoy! -C

If you had asked someone pre-Iron Man What Tony Stark was famous for, they probably wouldn’t have gone for the obvious answers- money or technology- they probably would have said his crazy house parties. If you had asked someone post-Iron Man what Tony Stark was famous for, they might have said being a superhero- but probably still parties. If you lived in the Malibu hills and you heard music blasting in the distance, there was no worry of it being a spaceship full of Britney Spears-obsesses aliens, and there was no point to calling the cops with a noise complaint. Since the invention of Iron Man, there were far fewer parties, at least. But the change in magnitude was like the change- actually, there was nothing even comparable to it. Combining superheroes + alcohol + a shitload of people that are impressed by literally anything + even more alcohol is an equation that results in two hundred people with horrible tequila hangovers, seventeen drunkenly-purchased timeshares in rural Michigan, and a Kentucky Derby-winning racehorse in Tony’s lab (to this day, he had no idea how it got there, only that it had been renamed Horsey Stark in his honor.)

In other words, New Year’s Eve was about to get absolutely lit.

”Jarvis, what’s our ETA on the caterer?” Tony called out, adjusting his bow tie in the mirror.

”Running late. They seem to be stuck in a traffic jam caused by guests trying to get to your party.”

“Does nobody adhere to the concept of being fashionably late anymore?” He stepped back and surveyed his outfit. “How do I look?”

”I’m sure you look as dapper as always, Mr. Stark.”

”Jarvis, you flirt.” He did look dapper, though, if he could say so himself. And he did. As he descended the stairs, he was tempted to physically pat himself on the back. Every inch of the Malibu mansion was decked out in glittery decorations, somehow the right balance of tasteful and tacky. Ordinarily, Tony would have put Pepper in charge of decorating, but she spent New Year’s with her family, thus leaving Tony to fend for himself in the wilderness of the party supply store.

“Everything all set?”

”Indeed, sir.”

”Champagne?”

”On ice.”

”Lab?”

”Locked, with the ‘drunk showoff protocol’ activated.”

”Almost forgot about that. Yikes. Ice cream bar?”

”Frozen and fully stocked.”

”Do we have plenty of mint chocolate chip on hand?”

”Of course, Mr. Stark.”

”Good. Good.” Tony checked his watch, his favorite (not most expensive, though). The engraving on the bottom side, which he could recite from memory, was almost entirely faded from use. “It’s go time.” He strode up to the front doors, turned the handle and threw them open... to find approximately no one outside. “Oh, thank god. No one shows up to a good party on time.”

 

It wasn’t long, though, before people did start to arrive. Mostly, it was his usual crowd, socialites and B-list celebrities. Then, a few at a time, the Avengers, who were hardly recognizable outside of their uniforms and disguises. Tony had counted them as they came in. They were all there- all except one.

"Hey, uh, Nat?" Tony approached Natasha as she was downing a tequila shot at the bar.

"Hm?" She quirked an eyebrow with a rare smile.

"Have you seen Steve?" She shook her head, a few locks of red hair falling loose from her updo.

"I asked him yesterday if he was coming. Didn't really give me a clear answer. He's not really up for parties right now, you know? Still adjusting."

"Right. Yeah." Tony couldn't hide his dejectedness.

"What's the matter, Stark? Still not over your man-crush on Rogers?"

"I do not have a 'man-crush' on Rogers." Still, he felt the heat rise in his cheeks.

"Holy shit." Nat's jaw dropped. Like, literally dropped. Like a cartoon character. "You have a _real_ crush on Rogers!"

"First of all, I do not. Second of all, _lower your voice,"_ Tony hissed. "I do not have a crush on Steve Rogers because a.) I am a grown-ass man, and I do not get 'crushes,' b.) because Steve and I disagree on every subject under the sun, and c.) because why would I have a crush on him when I could have literally anyone here? Like... her?" He pointed at a very beautiful, very talented, and very, very drunk young starlet."

"You're totally in love with him."

"I am not in love with-"

"Steve!"

"Yes, exactly-"

"You're here!" At once, Tony realized that Natasha's eyes were fixed on a point just above and to the right of Tony's head. He spun around, and there he was.

"Captain Rogers." As nonchalantly as he could, Tony leaned against the bar and tried not to choke on his drink.

"Stark. Natasha." Six feet even of pure muscle packed into a very tight blue tux, Steve was a sight to behold. Not to say that he wasn't always, but Tony had never seen him in formalwear before (his New Year's Eve party was the only one with a strict dress code).

"I didn't think you were coming," Natasha said with an even smile, at the same time discreetly nudging Tony in the ribs. He slapped her hand away with an irritated grin.

"I wasn't going to, but my only other option was watching the ball drop on TV, and quite frankly, Ryan Seacrest is my least favorite thing in the twenty-first century."

"How sweet of you to say, Cap. Well, there's an open bar, and, uh- oh, there's ice cream on the deck." The ice cream was what did it. A thin smile lit up Steve's face.

"Mint chocolate chip?"

"Of course." Steve turned and walked a few steps towards the deck, then stopped.

"I thought you hated mint chocolate chip ice cream. You once told me it tastes like toothpaste." Tony shrugged, his heart pounding out of his chest.

"I stand by that."

"So... why'd you get it?"

"It's your favorite, isn't it?" Steve's eyes narrowed curiously, but he didn't say anything, just nodded and kept walking. Tony felt a hand squeeze his shoulder.

"Yeah, that went well." He patted Nat's hand gently.

"Shut up."

"I do think you guys would be good together, actually. Somehow. You don't always end up with the person you thought you would." She sent a glance back over her shoulder at Bruce, who was nursing a gin and tonic in the corner, avoiding eye contact with, well, everyone.

"We're not you guys, Nat. It's not just that we're different from each other. Steve and I just... we don't get along. I don't think we ever could enough to..." He trailed off.

"So you admit it? You do have a crush on him?"

"No, Nat. I don't." She held her hands up in surrender.

"Fine. Whatever you say. Just, uh... think about it." He had never, in fact, stopped thinking about it. Not since he'd flown a nuclear bomb into a wormhole, and as he fell back to earth, the only thing he could think about was how he would never see Steve again. And then he didn't die, and the first thing he saw was Steve, and since that day, nothing else, no one else had so much as crossed his mind. All he could think about was what it would be like to run his fingers through those beautiful blond waves, to run his hands over what were probably washboard abs, even just to stare into those clear blue eyes. But that was fantasy, not reality, and despite what the last few years had taught him, fantasy and reality were two separate and mutually exclusive things.

 

Two and a half glasses of champagne later, it was just after 11, and Tony was looking for a dance partner. His plans for his New Year's party always included live music (except 2004, because he had accidentally hired a bluegrass band, so Happy stepped in as a last-minute DJ), and this year was no exception. The drummer for the best jazz band in New York, the Big Apple Revival, owed Tony a favor (a number of favors, really), and they were about to launch into Benny Goodman's "Sing, Sing, Sing," which just so happened to be Tony's favorite swing tune, as well as a chance to show off his years of dance lessons that at the time, he'd hated, but now, silently thanked his mother for making him take. Clint and Nat had been tearing up the dance floor for hours- assassins appeared to have excellent footwork- joined once or twice by Rhodey and a woman Tony vaguely recognized from last weekend's biggest blockbuster. Inside, it was hot, and crowded, which usually was Tony's favorite type of party, but at the moment, he felt like he couldn't breathe. He stepped outside, just for a moment, sucking in air like he had been holding his breath for hours.

"Hey." His head snapped up involuntarily. Steve was leaning over the railing, holding a half-eaten cone of ice cream.

"I see you're taking full advantage of the ice cream bar." Looking down, Steve seemed almost surprised, like he'd forgotten he was even holding it.

"Oh. Yeah." He straightened, towering over Tony. "I thought for sure you'd be in there. I thought you liked to dance."

"I do, but it's hard to swing without a partner." Steve considered for a moment, then shrugged.

"I could be your partner." Tony laughed.

"Sure." The drums started up, so loud and intense they could feel the reverberations through the floor.

"I mean it. Why the hell not?"

"Would you like me to list the reasons alphabetically?" Steve rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Rogers, it's alright."

"No, it's not. Didn't you tell me once this was your favorite dance tune? Come on." Steve held out a hand, which was big and soft and rough as Tony reluctantly put his own in it.

"Who's leading?"

"I am. Obviously." Tony couldn't help but chuckle as one of those big hands splayed across his upper back. Their other hands linked together, they set off, moving to the beat as though those drums had been there their whole lives.

"I didn't know you knew how to dance like this." Steve laughed, a deep, hearty laugh that came straight from his chest.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that. You know I grew up with music just like this, right? This is what I learned to dance to."

"Obviously. It's hard not to forget you're from another time."

"That's me. The man out of time." They didn't stop dancing, but Steve's face fell.

"Sorry. I know that's a touchy subject."

"It's not a 'touchy subject,' Tony. I know who I am. Do you?"

"That's a weird question, Cap."

"Yeah, maybe."

"...no. I don't. I have no idea who I am anymore." At once, they stopped dancing. Tony stepped back towards the railing, leaning back on his hands. Steve folded his arms and regarded him perplexedly. "I used to know. I was so sure. Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist." He counted off on his fingers. "I had it down. But being Iron Man has changed me in ways I don't even know. Maybe I'm a hero now, but I don't even know what that means." Slowly, hesitantly, Steve reached up a hand to squeeze Tony's shoulder.

"It means... fuck it, I don't even know what it means, and they've been calling me a hero for seventy years."

"Difference is, you are a hero. No maybe about it. I didn't build the suit to be some savior of the universe. I built the suit because if I hadn't, I'd have died. And then Fury, and the Avengers, and I just-" Tony threw up his hands. "-I never had time to figure any of it out."

 _"You_ never had any time to figure it out? I was a supersoldier for less than five minutes when Nazis tried to blow me up. And then I was frozen for seventy years, so I didn't really get to do a lot of thinking there. I don't think any of us know what's happening. Ever. But we make do with what we do know, and we make the rest up as we go."

"Damn, Cap. That was profound."

"Thank you. I do try." They both cracked a smile. Steve realized his hand was still on Tony's shoulder and pulled it off, shoving it in his pocket with a gentle cough. "I should, uh-"

"Yep. I'm gonna-"

"Yep." Both of them moved towards the same door. "There's, uh, fireworks. At midnight. Maybe I'll see you back out here?" Steve grinned, but he couldn't meet Tony's eyes.

"Maybe. Go ahead. I'm going to stay out here for a little bit." Tony nodded and went back in, silently cursing himself.

 

It was a quarter to midnight, a shot of whiskey and three club sodas later, and a fairly-sobered Tony stood on his coffee table, which made him only marginally taller than everyone else.

"Hello! Can I have your attention!?" Slowly but surely, the multitudes quieted from deafening to a low whisper. "Thank you. There is a barge full of fireworks currently making its way out into the Pacific right now. At midnight, it's gonna blow, so if you would please begin making your way out to the deck, sit back, and enjoy the show!" He was met with a roar of approval and hopped off the table. He found a spot on the far side of the deck, where the Avengers had gathered on a pair of deck chairs, clustered together, vying for space. He took a seat on the very end of one of them, the only open space, next to Natasha, who had her bare feet (she had ditched the heels halfway through) in Clint's lap.

"Saw you and Steve on the deck earlier," she muttered, her voice too low for anyone else to hear. "You looked... cozy."

"Shut up, shut up, and oh! One other thing- shut up." Tony felt someone sit down on the armrest behind him, big and warm. He also smelled really nice, which didn't seem fair. He checked his watch. "Five minutes, guys."

"Oh thank god." Bruce sounded relieved.

"Dick."

"I'm so tired, Tony."

"Just stay awake for a few more minutes, Big Guy." He stood up, his hands on his knees, to address the crowd once again. "Just a few more minutes, people, so if you're into the tradition, I suggest you find the person you're kissing _now,_ because I'm not interested in testifying at any sexual assault trials, got it?" There was a small chorus of 'Got it!'s back. "Come on, guys, stand up, or you'll miss the show." He was talking to his friends now. Reluctantly, with a number of groans and complaints, they all stood to join him. He checked his watch again. "We're going now! Fifty-nine, fifty-eight, fifty-seven..." he chanted until others took over for him, screaming numbers into the endless abyss of the Malibu cliffside. "Get your resolutions ready, guys, it's about to be a whole new year." They made their way to the glass railing, looking down over the ocean. Tony and Steve found themselves pressed side-by-side, staring down at the moonlight reflecting off the whitecappy black waves.

"And what's your resolution, Tony?" Their eyes met, just for a moment, and Tony found himself wondering how on earth those huge blue eyes of his managed to capture the moon so well.

"I don't know. Work less. Eat healthier." Steve shook his head. "How about you?"

"If I tell you, I'm not sure I'll go through with it." Tony quirked an eyebrow.

"How mysterious. I hope you'll tell me eventually."

"Oh, you'll, uh... you'll know it when you see it."

"You're being very cryptic tonight, Cap."

"I have my reasons." Tony checked his watch again. The light reflected off of it and bounced onto Steve's face, like some sort of bioluminescent highlighter. "That watch."

"Hm?"

"It's the one I gave to your dad for Christmas. Just a few days before I went under."

"Oh. Yeah."

"May I?" Steve gestured at his wrist.

"Uh, sure." Carefully, with surprisingly gentle hands, Steve turned Tony's hand over in his, unclasping the watch and turning it over. His thumb brushed over the engraving on the back, which had almost entirely worn off, but was still readable.

 _"To the mad scientist from the star-spangled man with a plan. Thanks for everything."_ Steve laughed. "I forgot about this."

"He loved that watch. He wore it every single day. He was wearing it on the day he died."

"You wear your dead dad's watch? Good lord, Tony."

"What can I say? It's a damn good watch, and- oh, shit." Tony snatched it out of Steve's hand. "Ten, nine, eight-"

"-seven, six, five-"

"-four-" Tony moved a step closer.

"-three-" Steve looped the watch back over Tony's wrist.

"-two-" Heart pounding, Tony put his hand over Steve's, which was still on his wrist.

"-one-" From this close, Tony could hear Steve's breath shaking. Before Tony could say "Happy New Year" (literally), Steve had a hand planted on either side of his face and kissed him. Hard. Tony froze. His train of thought had all but stopped in its tracks, and now all he could think about was that Steve's lips tasted like mint chocolate chip ice cream and for once, he didn't quite mind.

"Happy freakin' New Year," Tony said as they broke apart.

"So that was, um, not... bad?"

"Not bad? Give yourself some credit, Rogers, that was pretty fuckin' incredible."

"...oh."

"So, uh, was _that_ your resolution?" Steve shrugged.

"Sort of."

"What do you mean, 'sort of?'"

"I mean... my actual resolution was, 'tell Tony how I feel about him.'"

Now it was Tony's turn to say, "...oh." He paused, pondering silently. "So, uh... how do you feel about me?" Steve laughed again, that big, beautiful laugh. Reflecting in his eyes was no longer the moon, but the explosive fireworks, a rainbow of sparks. They had both tuned out the din. They couldn't focus on anything but each other.

"You really need me to answer that?" Steve asked, and then he kissed Tony again, softer than the first time. They might have forgotten to breathe if they hadn't been interrupted.

"Whoo! Get it, boys!" Natasha whooped and clapped loudly from where she sat, now sitting on Bruce's lap, playing gently with his hair. He had fallen asleep despite the noise and was now snoring contentedly. Her yelling attracted the attention of all the other Avengers, except, of course, Bruce, who was still fast asleep under Natasha.

"Fuck all of you!" Tony gave them all the finger as he kissed Steve for the third time, silhouetted together in profile against the brilliant sky.

 

An hour later, everyone was gone, even the Avengers, who usually were still at Tony's long after the party ended. Now, it was just Tony and Steve, who had stuck around for a while, and for which Tony was very glad to have help. The both of them had long since discarded their jackets. Tony had lost his tie at some point throughout the evening (he had no idea where it was, but it would turn up eventually). Steve still had his, but it was untied and hanging loose around his neck. His sleeves were rolled up just above he elbows, which was, in Tony's opinion, the sexiest sleeve length.

"Do you have a recycling bin?" Steve held up a trash bag that, judging by the way it clinked, was entirely full of empty champagne bottles.

"Yeah, but just leave it by the front door. I'll take it out in the morning." Tony put his hands on his hips and surveyed the room. "You know what? Just leave it all. It's 2014 Tony's problem." He crossed the room and circled his arms around Steve's waist. "Thank you. For staying to help clean up."

"Yeah, well, I _may_ have had some ulterior motives."

"Oh?" Tony quirked an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"Oh, yeah." In one swift move, Steve tossed the bag of bottles aside, pushing Tony backwards until they slammed into a window.

"I swear to god, Steve, if you break something, I'll-"

"You'll what?" Steve smirked. Tony hated the word smirk, he thought it was overused and sounded like a twelve-year-old writing mediocre fanfiction, but there was nothing else that could refer to what Steve was currently doing with his mouth. It was undeniably sexy, like everything else he had ever done in his life.

"Should we, uh-" Tony pointed to the stair with the hand that was not currently working its way under Steve's shirt. Without answering, Steve grabbed his hand and they ran up the stairs two at a time, tripping over their own feet. Hands were everywhere, all over each other, like even though it wasn't physically possible, they were trying to get even closer together. They fell into bed- literally, they couldn't bear to separate for even a minute. Tony's lips planted kisses down Steve's bare chest, undoing buttons as he went.

"You-" he said in between kisses, "-are so-" He finished with the shirt and made his way back up to Steve's mouth. "-beautiful."

"You're one to talk." And that was how the night went, trading banter between kisses, pressed together until they faded into each other in utter darkness, lit only sporadically by explosions of red and green and blue, leaving splotches of color with every touch and every kiss, until sleep took them at last, tangled together under the sheets, melting into each other like ice cream on a hot day.

 

"You know what's weird?" Tony asked as he blinked sleep out of his eyes. Ordinarily, he would have started off with a "Good morning" or "Hey, sexy" or even just a "Oh. Hey."

"...what?" Tony felt Steve awaken behind him, the big arm draped over his side pull back to brush the hair off his forehead.

"You're younger than me, but you were born in, what, 1918? So you're also over twice my age. And you were friends with my dad when he was younger than I am now, and the love of your life was my godmother. That's crazy."

"Um, yeah, it is. It's also a very weird first thing to talk about the first time we wake up in bed together."

"Right. Sorry." Tony rolled over so he was facing Steve. "Morning."

"Good morning."

"Do you want breakfast?"

"Is that seriously a question? I always want breakfast." Tony smiled.

"Right." He hopped out of bed and yanked on a pair of MIT sweatpants. "Give me ten minutes." He started towards the door, then stopped. "Whoops. Forgot something."

"Oh, what-?" He kissed Steve, warmly and quickly.

"Ten minutes."

 

It actually was ten minutes by the time he finished making breakfast and Steve joined him in the kitchen. He was wearing one of Tony's sweatshirts (too small), a pair of basketball shorts (way too small), and a rather fantastic case of bedhead.

"Pancakes?" He inhaled deeply, looking almost meditative.

"And eggs. Protein's important." Tony pushed a plate across the counter. "Come on. We'll eat on the deck." They sat on the chairs that they had been sitting on not even eight hours ago, before, well, everything. "Can I, uh- can I say one more kind of weird thing that might ruin the mood?"

"I don't feel like I'll be able to stop you."

"New Year's Eve was Aunt Peggy's favorite holiday. She always came over to our house to celebrate, and, uh, when I was a teenager, she used to slip me her champagne."

"Good old Peg. Always fueling other people's alcoholism."

"Seriously." Tony reached over, putting his hand on Steve's wrist, absentmindedly running his thumb over it. "She was my godmother, and in some ways, she was more of a parent to me than my father ever was. I remember my parents went out of town for a week once, and my nanny was sick, so they sent me out to LA to stay with her, and that was... it was the best week of my whole childhood. You know, she was so cool, but she also just was so... good. She seemed like she actually wanted to talk to me. I haven’t seen her since I was in college. I don’t even know where she is.” He raised Steve’s hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to his knuckles. “Anyway, all I’m trying to say is that I get why you loved her. I mean, she was perfect. But everything with you and me and her and my dad- it’s so fucked up, and if we keep thinking about it, it’s just going to be too weird, so why don’t we try to just be us, no weird shit, just the two of us, sitting on my deck, eating pancakes?” A slow smile spread across Steve’s face, the kind that started with his mouth, up through his cheeks and into his eyes until his entire face shone with amusement and light.

”Yeah. I think that’s good.” 

The sun turned the water below a brilliant shade of aquamarine, the same color as Steve’s eyes, Tony noted as he shoveled pancakes and eggs into his mouth. Maybe this year wouldn’t be as bad as he thought it was going to be.


End file.
